long enough
by Castiel'sBestFriend
Summary: John 'deals' with the loss of Sherlock, his feelings and an unexpected return


Sherlock had been gone longer than John cared to remember. Sometimes he would feel months had passed when he roused from his lost mind into the reality of life without Sherlock. The first year was the hardest. John couldn't bear to visit the flat within the first few months, but slowly he caught a cab and managed the whole journey back to 221b Baker Street. He had tried plenty times before but couldn't make the whole journey. Back to the flat 221b, but not his home without the lanky consulting detective rambling about their latest case. The flat was empty, John found himself shocked that everything was the same. Sherlock's violin case leaning against the wall next to the window. Their odd arm chairs facing each other. Mrs Hudson had tidied the science equipment but hadn't had the heart to throw it out so it was pilled neatly in a box in the kitchen, John felt this was wrong in his heart and arranged all the equipment back on the table. The sight of the flat without Sherlock brought fresh tears to John's eyes and he sighed heavily leaning against the stick that he now relied on for support. Ironically Sherlock appeared to have been John's crutch keeping his war time memories at bay. At least, that's what his shrink chose to believe. This was a different loss, a new pain. And it was ten times more unbearable. The nightmares were worse when he woke because Sherlock's jump wasn't a bad dream. Waking up made it even more real.

John never told his shrink that the nightmares were different. Or that he sometimes heard the familiar sound of Sherlock's footfall. Or the sound of his laugh warming his bones just around the street corner.

John swiftly became used to living in Baker Street again. Sometimes he would even choose to sleep in Sherlock's room. To smell the sheets that gave the sweet scent of musty cool air and cigarettes. John had never really thought about his feelings for Sherlock. Never really thought of them as more than that of friendship. Admittedly, yes, John would find moments with Sherlock, wanting to reach for the man's hand and give it a gentle squeeze. Or he would find himself lost those sky blue eyes that sparkled with excitement. He would feel warmth radiate through him when Sherlock came home from needing to go to his 'mind palace'. John never had really thought of himself as gay. Not really. But then again, it wasn't men he was attracted to… It was Sherlock Holmes.

He did love him. Every time John gave into that thought, that he loved Sherlock and never told him, broke him down into fresh cries of loss. Another ache in his heart. Thinking about Sherlock was hard, feeling his heart ache. But pretending that he never existed was even worse, to feel the emptiness and then the betrayal that he had done that to the only man he loved. Would ever love.

Mrs Hudson would visit John sometimes, it was painful for her too, she had begun to realise that John cared for Sherlock much more than the pair cared to admit when Sherlock was…. Or perhaps Mrs Hudson always knew. She wasn't the last person to assume that they were a couple. Mrs Hudson would occasionally see John smiling, pretending Sherlock was alive, that they were together. Happy. It would bring tears to her eyes seeing himself in such denial. Losing his mind even. John would see the worry and pain in her eyes and slowly his false life with Sherlock faded and he was left with nothing. Again.

The most memorable moment of finding John for Mrs Hudson was unquestionably the time when she felt it was too quite upstairs.

She went up and eventually found John on the floor of Sherlock's bed room curled up, weeping, sobbing and screaming. She didn't hesitate to take him in her arms and he didn't push her away.

'I loved him Mrs Hudson' He choked and it broke her heart.

' I know, I'm sure he knew too, in his own way' was the only way she could reply rubbing soothing circles on John's back until his weeping grew quitter and diminished into nothingness as he slipped into an empty dreamless sleep.

Some days when John got up he would forget that Sherlock had gone. Go to make himself a cup of tea. Sherlock's experiment equipment on the table. John would open the fridge, wondering what body parts he would find amongst their food. Finding the fridge only filled with food would awake him sharply and he would go back to bed, loosing himself in nightmares was sometimes easier than facing reality.

Some days John would visit Sherlock's grave. He didn't know what flowers Sherlock liked, probably none thinking that they were a waste of space if they weren't laced with chemicals which would give him important clues to their cases. Still, he gathered wild flowers, yellows whites and purples. Sometimes people would come up to him when he was there. With a 'sorry for your loss'. Some would hint that they were together, and that a life without his 'partner' must be very hard. John didn't know what made them assume that the relationship was romantic initially, but within a matter of weeks he realised it was that he was there so long. At this man's grave, with tears and flowers and words from his heart that never met Sherlock's ears. He gave up correcting them because it made him feel closer to Sherlock. Pretending they were more than just flatmates that became friends. And in some ways they were.

It was a rainy day and what felt like years when something happened to John. Something he never anticipated but never gave up hoping for. He was wearing Sherlock's jumper over his own clothes. John didn't know when it lost its smell of Sherlock but the softness of the fabric was comforting to him.

John hadn't done much in the three years that had gone by; Mycroft had kept paying for the flat and any expenses out of guilt. John worked one day a week in a doctor's surgery so he didn't feel quite so useless. Even there he had a small photo frame with a picture of Sherlock and himself.

John didn't hear the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs, or the creek of the door. But the steps on the wooden floor boards sounded over the rain and John's head flashed to the noise and his heart stopped.

He rose to his feet without consciously realising limping with his stick. He looked just the same. Tall, curly mop of dark hair, high cheek bones, long dark coat. But his eyes were warm.

'Sherlock' John whispered as he closed the space between him and threw his arms around him burying his face in Sherlock's shirt. There was a clatter as John's stick hit the ground but it didn't register. It didn't matter.

Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around John. John had lost weight over the three years and he was limping again. Sherlock felt a pang of pain in his heart at the certainty that he had done this to John. He brought his head down to John's head breathing in his smell and feeling his soft, sandy hair against his pale checks. John was shaking and Sherlock realised he had begun to cry as he realised it was real, he wasn't delusional. This time, it really was real. Sherlock pressed his lips to Johns head, squeezing his eyes shut in the fear that tears might escape him too.

The two men stood like this for what felt like seconds to them, but it was closer to hours. Their muscles were stiff when they finally drew apart. Sherlock's eyes were red, and his shirt was damp from John's tears. John's eyes were red too and his hair was a mess from Sherlock running his face through it. They both laughed through their tears with their arms still around each other.

John was too relieved to be angry at Sherlock; there was years of time for that later.

'I think perhaps we should announce to Mrs Hudson that you're alive and well' John managed to choke out through his tears; his smile was the biggest it had been since Sherlock's fall.

'mmmm' Sherlock pondered 'She'll be less forgiving, perhaps we ca-'

'No Sherlock you can't, three years is long enough' John tried to be stern through his smile but it was no good.

Still, with their fingers entwined they stumbled down the stairs with it not quite being wide enough for two.

'Mrs Hudson!' John called as they walked towards her door.

Sherlock knocked on the door and they heard clattering behind the door indicating Mrs Hudson was on her way.

'Best behaviour Sherlock' Said John grinning, Mrs Hudson was going to give him hell.

Sherlock looked at John uneasily knowing just that.

'What's wrong John, I won't be a minute' Mrs Hudson said in a worried tone through the door.

Sherlock beat John too it thinking that he might as well get it over with, 'Oh, nothing's wrong Mrs Hudson, nothing at all' He called through the door.

The two men heard what sounded like the smashing of a plate and then Mrs Hudson rushing to the door.

She opened it hastily, eyes wide. 'Sherlock' she breathed, which then swiftly turned into anger.

'You silly boy! How could you put us through that for three years, you could have at least thought of John!' She said hitting Sherlock across the chest with the tea towel she was still holding. 'And I'm going to add the repair work I had to make onto your rent and the costs of your blasted funeral' But, sure enough her eyes softened again when she looked down and saw their hands around each other's.

She looked up and said 'If that's what you want then I'm happy for you both.' Thinking she then added quickly, 'It's about time you two stopped denying your feelings.' Her smile grew and the three laughed as if not a day had gone buy.

'Well, if that's all boys, I really have to sort out the mess you made me make!' She said closing the door still smiling.

'Well she took that surprisingly well' Said John still looking at the door. Their eyes met and Sherlock replied,

'What, me or this' He said and he suddenly lent down and took John's head in his free hand and kissed him.

John had been imagining this for three years but the reality was so much more. Sherlock was warm and gentle and uncertain. All the things John thought he wouldn't be, but the one thing that he was that John thought was impossible for Sherlock was that he was loving.

And for Sherlock, well for Sherlock he had never felt more normal in his whole life. John had always made him feel like he belonged when everyone else referred to him as 'freak'. He knew this was right, even if it took him three years to realise life without John by his side just wasn't the same.

The two men were becoming entangled in their embrace when the front door came crashing open and their lips broke apart as their eyes flashed to the door.

It was Lestrade.

He looked stunned. Stunned at seeing Sherlock alive and well after three years. And, well, stunned to see him and John kissing.

He raised is finger and pointed at the pair of them as if to make a comment about the two but then became embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck looking down.

'Ah - Sherlock - you're alive - we'll of course you're alive - always said you were. Urmmmm….' Lestrade really was beginning to find the situation very awkward. Given other circumstances such as Sherlock not having been dead for over three years, or there being an extremely important case. Sherlock laughed whole heartedly and untangling himself from John replied,

'Lestrade, we'll follow you in a cab behind to the scene'

John laughed and gave his thanks for Lestrade including them in the case (well, for including him, Sherlock just happened to be back). Lestrade nodded and looked up embarrassed with is behaviour and said as he walked back out the door,

'You know, I always knew there was something between you two.'

And they lived happily ever after


End file.
